


Trouble

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, sort of, stupid boys are stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why, Bobby Singer, you shouldn't have.” Crowley's voice is rich with amusement as they both stand just in the doorway to the motel room. “The Honeymoon suite just for little old me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arabwel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/gifts).



> Prompt: Crobby, getting mistaken for a couple

“Why, Bobby Singer, you shouldn't have.” Crowley's voice is rich with amusement as they both stand just in the doorway to the motel room. “The Honeymoon suite just for little old me?”

“Fuck off, Crowley. Was the only room available.” Bobby picks up the bottle of champagne from the bucket of ice and wrinkles his nose, jabs it back down. “Some sort of convention in town.”

He pulls out his flask as he kicks the door shut, taking a swig of whiskey, and then tucks it back away.

Ignoring the demon, who has settled down in one of the chairs after pouring himself a glass of champagne, Bobby drops his duffel on the king sized bed with its ridiculous red satin comforter, and opens the closet door, starts pinning his research on the wall inside.

“All work and no play makes Bobby a dull boy.” Crowley's looking out the window now, looking over the city.

“Idjit,” mutters the hunter as he continues pretending the king of hell wasn't there. He's got no fucking clue why Crowley just invited himself along on this hunt, nor does he really care. Bobby has a job to do.

-

“How long have you two been together?” The waitress is fucking _simpering_ at Crowley, who runs with it, even showing her that damned picture he took of them kissing after their demon deal.

Bobby's not even sure why they're at this fancy ass restaurant. He wanted to grab a quick burger, but Crowley had somehow talked him 'round to a real sit down dinner.

 _Least the food is decent_. He glances across the table to Crowley, who air kisses at him. _Company could use an upgrade._

-

“Do you and your husband want a picture together?”

Bobby's not even paying attention to the woman with the camera until Crowley tugs on his arm. He turns to see what's the matter, and the demon yanks him close and rests his head on Bobby's shoulder. The hunter looks down at him, wondering what the fuck is going on, and that's when the flash of the camera goes off.

Crowley pays the woman, while Bobby rolls his eyes and goes back to picking through the old book stall. He may be in town for a specific hunt, but Bobby Singer never misses a shot to find a useful book.

Crowley pins the picture to the middle of Bobby's research wall.

-

“You do realize that it's a couples convention?” Crowley is flipping through a brochure that was handed to him after Bobby had yelled at him in the middle of the subway platform. “Apparently there's a seminar tonight on effective communication.”

“I communicate just fine, dick.”

They go anyway because a couple's retreat seems like a good place to track down someone messing with people's heads.

It's...nice. They dabble in a few of the games, stop in to a few lectures, and find themselves in a lengthy discussion about antiquing with another couple, which Bobby finds fascinating. He ends up trading numbers with the taller one, who happens to run a rare book shop in Maine.

Turns out the keynote speaker is a siren.

“Thank goodness I insisted that we figure out how to talk out our problems, _dear_.”

Bobby just mutters, “Balls,” because now he has to fucking find a bronze dagger. And he left his at home.

-

They go antiquing, of course they do, modern stuff don't use pure bronze anymore. Bobby finds what he's looking for at this weird little curio shop. Crowley waits outside after an incident with a shop that had a devil's trap that Crowley nearly got his ass stuck in .

“Is this a gift for your partner?” The salesclerk darts his gaze to the demon waiting outside, and Bobby wonders, not for the first time, why the hell Crowley's still hanging around.

Bobby sighs. “Just wrap it in some paper, wouldya?”

The clerk looks offended and Bobby shakes his head, because he hadn't meant to snap at the guy, but Crowley's got him on edge. He can't figure out why the king of hell is wasting his time following a hunter around.

-

“Why are you even here?”

Crowley looks up from where he's been lying on the ridiculous bed, contemplating the ceiling with his hands behind his head. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Bobby shakes his head and goes back to flipping through the paper, looking for more odd killings. He's got to get some victim's blood. _Figures I wouldn't get a straight answer._

Crowley gets up but the hunter doesn't notice until the demon is standing right in front of him. Crowley reaches across Bobby's paper and steals his bottle of whiskey, takes a long swallow before setting it back down.

He's used to sharing bottles with his comrades in arms and doesn't think twice about the gesture, just leans out of the demon's way and continues reading.

“Maybe I was just trying to get your attention,” Crowley mutters, but Bobby's focused, scribbling notes and doesn't even hear him.

The King of Hell stands there in front of his human, with his arms crossed and tries to stare Bobby down.

The hunter folds his paper after finishing his notes, and takes it to the closet, stepping around Crowley as if he's another piece of furniture, and tacks the info to the wall with the other stuff.

“Think that's the best lead I'm gonna git,” Bobby mutters out loud to himself, and then turns around to get his coat on and head out.

Only to find himself nose to nose with Crowley.

“What the hell you doin' boy? Get outta my face.”

Crowley doesn't. What he does, instead, is grab fistfuls of Bobby's plaid overshirt and haul him in for a kiss.

Bobby's first instinct it to freeze up, then to shove Crowley back and possibly punch him for good measure. Then his brain kicks in, and he thinks maybe the demon has noticed them being watched or something and is trying to cover..? Or maybe the King of Hell got whammied by the siren? But he doesn't seem to be trying to kill Bobby.

At least not if the hands currently unbuckling his belt are anything to go by. Then Crowley gets on his knees, gets his mouth on the hunter, and Bobby stops thinking for a long while.

-

“You want to tell me what the fuck that was all about?” Bobby's leaning back against the wall trying to catch his breath as he tucks himself back in, pulls up his zip.

Crowley's still on the floor, licking his lips, cat-like, then smirks up at the hunter. “Just trying to get your attention, darling.”

Bobby snorts. “Well, you got it. But we have a job to do.”

Crowley allows himself a small, smirk of satisfaction at the 'we'. He rises gracefully, then tilts his head, steps forward and crowds Bobby against the wall. For his part, the hunter merely arches a brow and stares the shorter man down.

“You're going to have to put in a little more effort next time, Bobby Singer. I can't always do all the work.”

Bobby arches a brow. “What makes you think there's gonna be a next time?”

He pushes past Crowley and shrugs on his jacket, pulling the door shut behind him.

Crowley kicks the chair over with a grimace.

-

Bobby finishes the hunt himself, gutting the siren with the blood covered blade in the green room backstage, and then stuffing his bag with some of the free stuff for the speakers. Hey, he ain't proud and hunting don't pay.

He stews about Crowley all the way home, pissed at himself because he misses that mouthy bastard. Bobby figures it's a case of any company is better than no company. Until he starts thinking about Crowley on his knees, when he goes to relieve a little stress later.

 _You're all kinds of fucked up, Bobby Singer_ , he tells himself, and then goes to bed.

-

The hunter wakes up in the middle of the night suddenly, some sort of sixth sense telling him that he's not alone, and he's got his rifle pointed right at the intruder's face before he can say anything.

And then Bobby huffs in annoyance as he sees who it is, and he tosses the gun back to its place and rolls over to the far side of the bed, and goes back to sleep.

Crowley considers, and then shrugs and crawls into the empty space in the bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Bobby must have rolled over, because he wakes up spooning the King of Hell.

Crowley must sense he's awake because he turns himself around, still within the hunter's arms, until they're face to face.

“You're a real pain in the ass,” Bobby tells him, and then tugs him close and kisses him hard, demanding.

Crowley smirks. “I missed you too, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: The Creeper by Molly Hatchet
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


End file.
